Rational Intercourse
by AnihyrMoonstar
Summary: A story in which Artemis learns there is nothing rational about intercourse. Plot? What plot? Butler/Artemis, SLASH
1. Part One

**A/N:** I wrote this several years ago, but just (a few hours ago) finished reading "The Time Paradox," and it has re-inspired my Artemis Fowl fanfiction plot-bunny. Because this was written years ago, there are certain things I'm sort of ehh about, and (obviously) it ignores all developments revealed in "The Time Paradox;" however, I do have an emotional attatchment to it, of sorts, and so I figured, why the heck not? I'll share it with FF dot net and see what kind of a response it gets.

**WARNING:** Plot: _Slim-to-Nil_, Smut Level: _High_, Spoilers? _Yes,_ but only for "The Lost Colony" and before. None for "The Time Paradox."

**PART ONE**

"Semen," Artemis declared resolutely.

"A seaman, sir?" Butler inquired, puzzled. When working for a genius, one tended to become rather accustomed to the sentiment, but that didn't make it any more pleasant.

"Not _a_ seaman, Butler," Artemis corrected. "Semen." He ran a pale finger delicately over the cool metal sensor before him, his keen eyes impassive as the detector gave a monotone bleep and flashed red once before returning to its original state. "A viscous, off-white secretion of the properly functioning male reproductive system, also known as seminal fluid, which-"

"I understand."

"I'm glad." It was an odd statement to make, seeing as Artemis did not look it in the least. In fact, if Butler were to venture a guess, the young prodigy looked about as far from "glad" as could be expected, but he had been wrong before. Artemis' facial expressions typically ranged from mildly displeased to passively apathetic, making discerning his mood a rather difficult task indeed.

For the first time since his declaration of "semen," Artemis turned to face his bodyguard, his gaze cool and calculating. "I apologize ahead of time, Butler, but I'm afraid there is simply no other way…" Butler swallowed. Sentences that began like that rarely ended well. "I must require that you ejaculate." The pokerfaced expression only made the comment that much harder to comprehend.

"You…I…_what_?" A painfully dizzying sensation hummed between Butler's temples, and he fought the urge to wince, steadying himself with some difficulty. To his eternal dismay, Artemis' smile was thin and humorless. If he were joking, he didn't show it.

"From your expression, I can only assume you heard me perfectly," Artemis replied without inflection. "The sooner the better, if you please." He opened his mouth, then changed his mind and curbed his tongue, taking a moment to spare his bodyguard a sincerely apologetic glance.

"Artemis," Butler began carefully, tip-toeing over his words with extreme hesitance in a _very_ un-Butler-like manner, "I realize you are not yet fully accustomed to the exact…ahem…circumstances…relating to puberty…" Before him, Artemis narrowed his eyes, unaccustomed to have his intellect challenged in any way, regardless of subject. "But surely you understand…one does not simply…" Butler fumbled for a suitable euphemism, then finally settled on Artemis' own word, "…ejaculate…on command."

Artemis appeared, for the most part, unperturbed, brow furrowing in mild incomprehension. It was a rare look for the young mastermind, and were the situation any different, Butler may have savored the moment. As it was, he was forced to endure helplessly as his teen charge barreled on, facing the situation from the only angle he understood—cold hard logic.

"Yes, well, I realize that we currently lack the prime conditions for spurring an impromptu orgasm," Artemis admitted. Butler wondered, before he could think better of it, if the Irish boy had ever experienced an orgasm in his life. "However," Artemis continued, unawares, "you've performed remarkably in far stickier situations than this in the past, have you not?"

Sticky situations—Butler grimaced at the painfully apt wording.

"I have faith in you, old friend." Amazingly enough, Artemis' hesitant smile was not the least bit comforting. It made Butler want to throw his charge against a wall and teach him a thing or two about orgasms.

Groaning, Butler turned away from his—vastly underage, he reminded himself—young companion, and gave into the urge to drop his face in his hands. "Artemis," he implored, desperate for another solution, "are you absolutely…" He didn't bother finishing the sentence. Of course Artemis was sure. When wasn't he? Finally, he sighed. "Why semen?"

Behind him, he heard Artemis exhale a contented breath of relief. If Butler was already to the "why" stage, then he had won the battle. Explaining was the easy part. "Technically, any bodily fluid would suffice in a pinch, _but_…" The 'but' came just in time to crush the fledgling flutter of hope in Butler's chest, as effective as bringing down a sledgehammer on a butterfly fresh from its cocoon. "In this case, saliva is far too free-flowing, and blood, well…we couldn't give up enough without risking serious permanent damage, and I don't have the proper tools to extract it anyway. What I need is something to work with, a live, cell-based material that I can use to conjure a distraction for the sensors, and give us enough time to escape this cell. Once out, I already have the blueprints to this building memorized backwards and forwards. Escape should be a cake walk."

Butler massaged his temples, though, if anything, it only seemed to make his headache worse. "And, remind me again, why we can't simply wait for Holly or Foaly to bail us out?"

"Too much of a delay," Artemis answered immediately. "It could take them days, weeks to even get wind of our dilemma, even longer to set us free. All of it is time we simply do not have. Our captors have my fairy communicator, and if we're not out of here within a few hours, all that technology, along with the evidence of fairy existence and my _own_ magical capabilities, mind you…will be open season for the highest bidder at best, all over the internet in every country in the world at worst."

After the time-tunnel incident with the island of Hybris, Artemis had managed to "steal" some of the suspended magic while caught between dimensions, most of it from the imp warlock, Qwan. Holly had taken the time to declare that the last thing the world need was a _magical_ Artemis Fowl, but, nonetheless, that was what the world got. Now, he was imprisoned with his bodyguard in a high-security cell several hundred feet below ground simply because of one mishap during an experimental practice session with his newfound powers.

"They have all the evidence necessary to prove that not only have they caught the sole human boy on the planet endowed with mystic magical powers, but also that other strange creatures inhabit the very ground beneath us, and have mastered far more advanced forms of technology at that. This is all the world needs to throw it into a second war of fairies versus humans, and this time, my friend, I fear our species won't be so lucky."

Butler risked a backwards glance at his young charge and swallowed thickly. Artemis' pale face was drawn tightly together, jaw set and mouth tilted ever so slightly downward in utter concentration. Mentally, at least, Artemis had dug his heels in, and was refusing to budge. When his tongue flicked out to wet anxious lips, Butler's heart nearly skipped a beat, and he snapped his head back to stare down the wall once more, cursing silently to himself.

"Master Artemis-" As he said it, Butler realized, despairingly, that he was out of arguments. How does one explain to a virgin genius complications involved with the nature of his request?

"I'm sorry, Butler, do you…" Artemis hesitated. Artemis never hesitated. "Do you require assistance?" Uncertainty leant a timid, childlike quality to the usually self-assured voice, and Butler drew a sharp breath, shutting his eyes against the barrage of unwanted emotions that instantly assaulted him.

"God," he prayed, knowing he was taking far too long to answer. "No, Artemis. I-" _I couldn't_, he thought. _I can't. I wouldn't do that to you._ "No, I'm," he swallowed, "fine." The lie felt like sandpaper scratching its way up his throat. "Just…turn the other way and…close your eyes."

"If it makes you feel more comfortable," Artemis murmured, unsuccessfully masking his sigh of relief. "However," he continued after a moment, "I don't see why it would make much difference. There are cameras surveying this room from every angle, twenty-four seven. Obtaining privacy is as improbable as it is illogical."

Butler's ears had stopped working after "cameras from every angle." It took Artemis less than three seconds after he'd finished talking to pick up on it. Almost record time.

"Butler?"

"You're brilliant, Artemis," Butler answered, clenching and relaxing his fists slowly to release tension that had somehow worked its way into every inch of his body.

"Oh," said Artemis, sounding surprised. "Why thank you, Butler, I-"

"You can come up with an alternative plan." He turned to face his employer and met Artemis' mismatched blue and hazel eyes dead on. "I have faith in you." The comment earned him a thin frown.

"Of course I could, given enough _time_. However, as I have explained, that is something we currently lack. Butler…" Artemis' frown deepened, and he tucked an unruly lock of raven hair behind his ear. The movement was so carelessly innocent, Butler had to wonder if the boy had any idea what a sight he made. "I fear I must apologize again, but…you leave me no other choice."

Before Butler could even begin to consider the consequences a statement like that could entail, Artemis' was advancing on him. His hands were glowing, a bright forget-me-not blue that danced along his fingertips like miniature lightning bolts. And then Butler's back hit the wall and he almost forgot about the cameras. Almost.

Artemis noted his wary glance and shook his head. "Don't think about them, Butler," he cooed, his voice surprisingly soft, persuasive. Butler blinked and tried to shake his head, suddenly groggy. His mind felt as if it was submerged in fog, cool grey tendrils of mist winding their way into his thoughts and slowly taking hold.

"But, there-"

"There are no cameras, Butler," Artemis murmured, and Butler believed him. His eyes were beautiful.

"There are no cameras," Butler repeated. Why would there be? Of course there were no cameras…

"Just you and me, no one else watching. In fact," Artemis amended, "I'm not even here. You're alone…in your room…and the house is empty." With every word, the tendrils tightened their hold, and a very, very distant part of Butler's conscious felt magic tickle his abdomen through his shirt and coat.

"You're not here," Butler agreed. "I'm alone…" The manservant fought with a frown, indecision furrowing his brow. "But…I want you here. You have to be safe. I couldn't live with myself if-"

"I am safe," Artemis reassured gently, sounding almost touched. "I am safe, and you are not worried about me." Butler felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He was not worried about Artemis. It had been eighteen years since he'd not been worried about Artemis. "You are not worried about anything," Artemis continued. "You are on your bed and…" The Irish boy swallowed. "…aroused."

"You are safe," Butler murmured reverently, blissfully relieved. "Of course you are safe. I am on my bed and…" The bodyguard's breath hitched, as if it had suddenly snagged on something halfway down his throat. "Oh," he moaned, "Artemis, forgive me…"

Artemis glanced up, startled. Had he done something wrong? But no, Butler wasn't even looking at him. His eyes were closed, the look of bliss gone. The young genius frowned. Dare he risk it? His protector clenched his fists, knuckles going white, and Artemis made his decision.

"What do you have to forgive me for?"

Butler shook his head, shamefaced. "So much, too much. God," he gasped, looking pained, "you're so beautiful. And brilliant. And…oh," he groaned and grit his teeth, releasing a ragged breath so heavy it almost sounded like a sob. "I love you," he confessed, "but not as a father should his son. Sometimes I just…want-"

"Stop," Artemis commanded, rather more breathlessly than he'd planned. "Just…oh, dear…" This was not part of the plan. He felt dizzy. He couldn't breathe. Then, his magic dimmed, snapping him back into reality. He had a few seconds more at most before he wouldn't have enough left. "But don't you see, Butler," he whispered, working hard to keep a tremble out of his voice, "you don't have to forgive me because…" He grit his teeth. Say it. Just say it. "I love you too." Butler shuddered, and Artemis shut his stinging eyes, throat tight with guilt. Mission accomplished. He looked up to meet his manservant's gaze once more for the final command. "You were never _mesmered_."

Butler blinked, coming back from his daze with an odd feeling of weightlessness. His pants felt oddly sticky. When he glanced down, a cold stone sank to the pit of his stomach, and he snapped his head up sharply. Artemis' eyes were glassy and unreadable, but everything from the base of his neck on up was flushed pink as spring roses.

"Artemis-"

The boy genius turned sharply away, voice clipped and emotionless as he said, "'How' is irrelevant right now. _If_ we arrive back at the manor safely and _if_ you still want to know when we get there…I will explain then. Until that time…" Artemis turned back, lips pursed and face florid. "I will begin making use of your semen."

**A/N:** Be kind/ruthless/vague/specific/neutral. As long as you're not rude, I don't care, but please _do_ tell me what you think. Thank you, and have a nice day. Oh, yes, and I realize the plot/reasoning is EXTREMELY thin. It wasn't really meant to be brilliant; the plot bunny started in my head with Artemis saying the word "semen" and Butler immediately taking it to mean "seaman." That was the entirety of the basis for this when it was conceived. Everything else fell in from there.


	2. Part Two

**PART TWO**

Artemis was confused. He abhorred it. Whereas most people encounter the sentiment countless times over the course of the day, Artemis could not remember the last time he had dealt with this most god awfully unpleasant emotion, and he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. How could regular people stand it?

Sighing, he rubbed his temples methodically. Everything had gone according to plan. He was safe; Butler was safe; the fairy's secret was safe. Why did he feel so miserable? Oh yes. He remembered now. He'd _raped_ his ever-faithful manservant. Artemis' head hit the desk before him with a thud. A distant part of his conscious suggested that such actions were likely not good for his inherently valuable brain cells, but for once in his life, he didn't care.

"You were right, old friend," Artemis admitted to no one in particular. "Love, romance," a pause, "sexual attraction…these are subjects which baffle me." Outside, a heavy rain supplied ill-omened background music to mirror his mood, the harsh droplets slashing through the tender soil like cotton candy. Artemis' lips twitched with a cheerless smile. "Perhaps it is a curse upon me that I should never understand it…or perchance a blessing." Shaking his head, he stood, turning his back on the rain. His eyes landed on an elaborate vanity at the far side of the room.

Some might have found it odd for a teenage boy to house such a historically feminine piece of furniture in his bedroom, but then again, few people would classify Artemis as "normal." Early on, Artemis had caught on to various powers associated with physical appearance. Presented correctly, the right outfit could turn every head in the room, or make one disappear altogether. A twelve-year old decked cap-a-pie in formal wear on a busy street, for instance, turned heads. A rowdy teenager garbed in faded jeans, lightning embossed tennis shoes, and a Metallica T-shirt did not. Artemis was by no means unaccustomed to utilizing the powers of dress and presentation to his advantage. He was not, however, accustomed to examining his image for anything other than business reasons, as he was now.

A bit pale, he decided, giving his reflection a stern assessment. And thin. His nose was sharp, his chin pointed, and eyes a bit too large for the rest of him. The faded skin tone likely had something to do with that. And his hair. It had grown some, hung almost to his shoulders and framed his face like a dark, wavy blanket. Feminine, like his lashes. Artemis frowned at this assessment. He did not want to look "feminine."

"Beautiful," he said aloud, testing the sound of it. That was the word Butler had used. Not much better than feminine, and yet… He worried his lower lip, strung a hand of fingers through his hair, and let his lashes drop a quarter inch, keeping sight of his reflection. The effect startled him, and he stumbled back a step, quickly shoving both hands in his pockets and glowering accusingly at the mirror. Foolishness. What did it matter which adjective he chose to label himself with? Or Butler, for that matter? In the end, it meant nothing.

He turned his back on the mirror and stalked across the room, halting before two looming glass doors. On a sunny day, they led out onto a scenic porch and spectacular view of the countryside surrounding Fowl Manor. Today, they were the only things separating a rather perturbed Artemis from an angry lightning storm. Without a moment's hesitation, he slung them open and stepped into the squall.

Wind and water lashed at every bare inch of him, ice cold and sharp as needles. Within seconds, his clothes were drenched, black trousers hugging his legs all the way to his ankles and white silk button-down clinging like transparent glue to his chest. Mother would scold him for getting his expensive carpet wet. He sealed the doors behind him with an audible click. Butler would scold him for walking out into thunderstorm. His laugh was shallow and short-winded. His mother would worry about property, Butler about his health. How fitting. Suddenly, the rain was hot against his cheeks. It took him all of two seconds to realize he was crying. His tears, not the raindrops, were hot and salty.

* * *

Two stories down, Domovoi Butler's Artemis-is-doing-something-stupid sense was tingling. In seconds, he shoved several hundred pounds of steel off his chest as easily as anyone else might toss aside a sack of bubble-wrap and moments later was taking the stairs to his charge's room three at a time. Wisely, no one stood in his way.

When he reached the top, his heart stuttered to find the boy's room empty, but, thankfully, the fear was short lived. Spotting his young master sagged against a cold rail in the middle of a thunderstorm, however, was not a terrific alternative. His first instinct dictated that he storm out, gather the frail teen in his arms and drag him inside whether his charge appreciated it or not. Yet, something about the boy's posture made him hesitate.

Yes, he was trembling, but not because of the cold. Butler realized Artemis was crying faster than Artemis had himself. Something about that knowledge felt like a M16 assault rifle shot to the chest with nothing in between.

He crossed Artemis' room in seven long strides and opened the wide glass doors without earning so much as a stir from his teen charge. Instead of snatching the boy and forcibly directing him back inside, however, Butler positioned himself to the west, putting himself in between Artemis and the blunt of the storm and acting as an effective human wind-breaker. When the rain stopped hitting him, Artemis glanced up. It was a sight Butler knew he'd never forget.

"Butler," said Artemis. His cheeks were florid, streaked with rain, his dark hair plastered to his face and his eyes ever so slightly pink around the edges. "You're…" He swallowed, steadied his voice, and took a breath, looking away as he ran a discreet hand across face, as if to hide himself. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask the same of you," Butler pointed out. Artemis said nothing. "Come now, you'll catch your death of cold out here."

Artemis shivered. "I'm not cold."

"Hmph. But _I_ am," said Butler, "and now that I've found you, I can't dutifully leave until I've ascertained your safety."

Artemis glanced up. "Big words for you, Butler," he said. "You sound like me."

"Should I be flattered?"

Artemis smiled grimly. "It's debatable." Then, after a moment he said, "If it comforts you, I promise to take a hot shower afterwards. There is no reason you should subject yourself to such weather for my sake. I will retreat before it endangers my health."

Butler grunted, but remained all the same.

After a moment, Artemis sighed. "Butler-"

"I changed my mind," said Butler. "I like it out here." Artemis kept silent. Butler glanced to his charge. Was that a smile? Why, yes, yes it was…

"Butler…" Artemis' objection faded off as the contagious smile spread, and he brought a hand to his mouth in a rather futile attempt to cover it. Eventually, he shook his head and sent his companion a half-hearted glare. "You are exceedingly stubborn. You realize this, do you not?"

Butler chuckled, and the sound carried more potently than the thunder. "A bit hypocritical, wouldn't you say?"

"Hmm…" Artemis' thumb traced his lower lip absently. "Possibly," he conceded. "Well…yes. Yes, I suppose it is a bit hypocritical." He grinned and hefted himself off the rail, tugging distractedly at his soaked silk shirt as he did so. The instant he let go, the fabric clapped back to his skin like a suction cup, and Butler swallowed awkwardly. Artemis would be the one to run out into a raging thunderstorm in _white silk_. Thin white silk at that—and highly expensive.

"Something the matter, Butler?"

Butler snapped his head up, mentally cursing himself for staring. "No, Master Artemis. Nothing," he lied smoothly. "I was merely concerned about your state of dress. That shirt looks freezing." _Among other things_.

"Oh," said Artemis, taking a moment to re-examine his transparent top. "Yes, well, I must admit I wasn't thinking much of it when I ran out here."

For all Artemis' inestimable intelligence, Butler could not count the times he was eternally grateful the boy had chosen this specific subject to be oblivious of. He tried hard not to think of the day when Artemis finally got _everything_ figured out. (For he had no doubt that day would come, he had no doubt, it was only a matter of time.)

"Of course," was all he said out loud.

Artemis smiled, lifting his hands over his head with a nimble stretch and unwittingly revealing a thin ribbon of creamy white skin in the process. Butler shut his eyes, vaguely considering suggesting to his charge that he wear large, formless black shirts and muddy brown cargo pants from that day on.

"Very well," Artemis said finally. "For your sake, I will retire to the safety of the indoors." He glanced up. "It appears you've taken to absorbing the large blunt of the storm for me anyway."

Butler rolled his shoulders with a gruff snort, appearing for all the world like a great cat, shrugging off the tension of a hunt. "The rain's almost stopped now," he said, staring out into the grey sky, as he didn't yet trust himself to look at his charge. And it had. The remaining sprinkle was barely more than a fine mist. "You have nothing to thank me for."

"Mm." Artemis' kept on smiling. "On the contrary, my friend…I believe I have more to thank you for than I'll ever know, and that's not a statement I make lightly." He rolled his weight onto the balls of his feet idly, then turned in a single swift motion and crossed to the balcony doors. Once there, however, he hung back, noting that Butler had yet to follow him. "Do you intend to linger here long?"

Butler glanced up, mildly startled. "Oh," he said, "no. No, I was…thinking." He frowned. Thinking was not something he made a habit of—too distracting. He traced his charge's footsteps to the door, watching the boy's back as he stepped inside. Only as he shut the doors behind them did he realize Artemis was laughing—soft and light and breezy, like wind chimes.

"Thinking, dear friend?" he said. "You look as if you've swallowed a bug. Is the idea truly so repulsive?"

Butler smiled grimly. "In the past, I've found it's a job best left to you."

"True enough," Artemis relented. "Though I might not always be there."

Butler's stomach gave a chilling lurch, and he grit his teeth. _Don't say that_, he thought, biting his tongue so as not to blurt it out loud. _Please. Don't say that_. He managed to keep his mouth shut, earning himself an analytical glance from his charge. In that one look, he felt Artemis read his thoughts from top to bottom as effortlessly as he did print on a page. To Butler's immense relief, he let it all pass.

"It seems I've drenched mother's carpeting," Artemis commented with little remorse, briskly changing the subject. When he shifted his weight from side to side, the carpet squelched wetly beneath his feet. "A thousand Euros says she'll be furious."

Butler snorted, rather distracted by the fact that Artemis' toes were bare, and white, and wiggling in the damp carpet. "It would take some fool to bet with you, Artemis," he said. "Some fool…or some man very desperate to lighten his pocketbook…preferably by several tons."

Artemis grinned almost cruelly, "baring his fangs" as some would call it. "Why, Butler, you make me sound so callous."

Butler raised his eyebrows, trying exceedingly hard to ignore the fact that Artemis was _caressing_ the top button of his shirt with his thumb. "You, callous?" The button slipped from its hole, baring a pale triangle of throat. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Artemis chuckled and glanced down. "Yes, well…" He curled his toes in the wet flooring, dropping his hands from his shirt and folding his arms with a repressed shiver as cold water pooled around his feet. "You give me more credit than most."

"No more than you deserve," Butler muttered, drawing an underhanded glance from his young charge.

He frowned. Artemis' lips were purple. And quivering. Stomping out the frighteningly powerful urge to swoop down and warm them up personally, Butler relented instead to a slightly less pedophilic course of action and tucked a damp raven lock of hair behind his employer's ear. Apparently, it was still out of character enough to earn him a full-fledged stare. Unsettled by the look, he diverted his gaze.

"Didn't you promise me a hot shower?" he grumbled.

"Oh," Artemis sobered quickly and glanced away, laughing breathlessly. Was that relief in his eyes? "Yes. Yes, I did." He smiled awkwardly, then gave Butler's wet, bedraggled form a thorough look-over and pursed his lips. "You should take one as well," he stated decisively. "You look…" He paused, long enough to obviously change his mind about what he was going to say, and blushed. "You look very wet," he finished blandly, eyes glued to the floor.

Butler observed the odd behavior with puzzlement, but wisely opted not to comment. "Wetness can be cured with a simple change of clothes," he said. "And I'm no more than damp at the worst." That was mostly a lie, since he was still soaked to the bone, but he didn't want to bother with showering at the moment. He had more important things to do…like get out of Artemis' room before he—Butler—did something irrevocably stupid. "It would be a waste of water, in any case."

Artemis' eyed him inquisitively, like a young child examining a rubix cube for the first time. Butler could almost see the gears turning in his head. "A waste of water? I never knew you to be an environmentalist…" Butler held his breath. "You've never expressed an interest in it before, but…if water conservation is all that concerns you, there's ample room in the shower. You're welcome to join me."

Artemis, naked and panting under hot water as steam coiled its way around his arms and neck, condensed on his lips and lashes and—_f__uck_. Butler shook his head. Madame Ko in a leopard-skin bikini. Madame Ko in a leopard-skin bikini. It wasn't working fast enough. That, and every time Artemis so much as wiggled a finger, he lost his concentration.

"Don't worry about it," he growled tightly. "I'll shower in my room." Not trusting himself to linger another moment, he made immediately to leave the room. Behind him, Artemis sighed.

"Shame," the young genius lamented. "And here I was so looking forward to company."

Butler faltered, but when he glanced back, Artemis had already disappeared. Moments later, a showerhead sputtered to life, and Butler swore, turned on his heel, and left. One of these days, Artemis was going say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and he was going to get himself fired for forcibly ravishing his principal.

Madame Ko would have a stroke.

**A/N:** Well, I posted part one; might as well finish getting this up here. (Two more parts to go after this.)


	3. Part Three

**PART THREE**

A hundred and fifteen degree water scalded his bare backside, sending large steamy billows of condensed vapor into the moist air, already thick with humidity. He should have mixed the stream off with cold a while ago now, but the hot sting was distracting, and the last thing Butler wanted to do now was give himself time to think. Thinking lead to trains of thought he had no right boarding—most of which involving midnight hair, smooth as silk, keen eyes, bright with unfathomable wit, and soft, peach lips drawn together in a razor thin smile that could only mean trouble.

_You're welcome to join me._

Butler shut his eyes, drawing a sharp breath through his nostrils and clenching his fists against the cool tile. Why now? Of all times, after all these years, why _now_? He loved Artemis—possibly a bit more than admirable—but he could accept it, nonetheless. He had grown used to the idea over time and learned to, at least for the most part, ignore it. This though, this was different. This was the Artemis who'd once declared that he would need to research "friendship" pinning him with a deadpan stare and telling him to ejaculate; this was the Artemis who'd once faced down John Spiro without blinking drenched head to toe in wet silk and blushing as he fumbled with his shirt buttons; this was _Artemis Fowl_ shamelessly inviting his _manservant_ to shower with him.

Butler scowled, shut off the water, and stepped abruptly out a moment later. He needed to shoot something, plain and simple. Hot lead, cold steel, and black and white targets with absolutely no shades of grey—that he could handle. A few neat clicks and some loud bangs might even clear his head if he was lucky. Tossing a towel around his waist, he left the bathroom almost smiling. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. In fact, he was already going through a mental list of available artillery when his daydreaming met a rather swift and untimely end.

"Absolutely scrumptious," declared Artemis approvingly, his unmistakable voice the epitome of adolescent aristocracy. At that particular moment, it made Butler freeze in his tracks. "You really must send my best wishes to the cook. This _congolais_ is simply to die for."

Swallowing a dry lump the size of Canada, Butler glanced to his doorway. There, much to his dismay—though not entirely to his surprise by that point—he found the object of his anxieties, one arm propped against the doorframe and the other fiddling with what appeared to be a crisp, golden-brown coconut biscuit. Artemis wasn't even looking at him.

"I don't believe I've tasted one of this caliber since I last allowed Minerva to drag me off to one of those French cafés she dotes on so highly." When Artemis finally lifted his head, his eyebrows shot up, but Butler could have sworn he saw the boy's lips twitch into a smile before he quickly vanquished it. "A tad risqué for dinner wear, no?" the young genius inquired, looking for all accounts as strictly businesslike as ever.

For the first time in several decades, Butler felt blood rushing to his cheeks—among other places—and found himself praying to whatever god would listen that Artemis' eyes were not nearly so keen as his mind.

"Artemis," he croaked. "You…ahmm…" Butler cleared his throat and frowned, subconsciously tightening his grip on the towel at his waist. "What exactly…are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Artemis answered plainly. "Though it seems…" Artemis eyed his manservant speculatively, utterly oblivious of Butler's silent pleas for deliverance from temptation. "I was a bit too hasty in my search." Popping the last piece of coconut roll daintily between his lips, Artemis actually _licked_ his fingertips before stepping into the room. "You're not half dressed."

Butler opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, and finally settled for a muted mumble of, "How very perceptive of you to notice." Apparently, Artemis still heard it despite its muffled quality and the boy's lips curved up just enough to make the overall effect very fetching indeed.

"You flatter me, Butler," the youth murmured in reply, taking the opportunity to cross the room in the direction of Butler's closet. "You should know better by now than to inflate my ego, though." Moments later Artemis emerged, one arm draped with dark slacks, the other with a crisp white button-up and charcoal vest—Butler's characteristic "black suit" attire. "Here," he said, coming up before his rather bewildered bodyguard and offering up the handful, "make yourself presentable."

Butler shifted awkwardly. Why hadn't they prepared him for things like this in basic training? Or any sort of training, for that matter? What were the rules when it came down to coconut rolls, undersized towels, and charges whose hair smelled like tropical paradise? "Artemis…" He searched, but the words refused to come, and eventually he gave up.

"Yes?" Artemis prompted after a time.

"Forget I spoke," said Butler. "I'll just…" He frowned, eying the bundle in his arms with unjustified distaste, "…put these on." With that, he made a sloppy retreat back into the bathroom, more grateful than he'd been in a long time to escape his charge's presence.

The pants were stiff and confining and tight in all the wrong places, the shirt was loose enough but awkward, and despite the fact that he'd been dressing himself without difficulty for forty years or more, he couldn't, for the life of him, get the buttons to cooperate with his fingers. Regardless of all that, he appeared minutes later fully dressed, at least for the most part. His hands were still partially distracted by the fact that somehow, he'd skipped a button somewhere along the line, and his shirt was skewed.

"Ah yes, much more respectable," said Artemis appreciatively, instantly taking Butler's attention. The young heir sat—poised—on the edge of Butler's bed, left leg dangling freely over the edge and right tucked neatly beneath him. "Unfortunate that it's required for propriety's sake, however…the towel quite became you." He flashed an unsettling grin that did nothing to help the state of things below Butler's belt, and Butler wondered, not for the first time, if the teen prodigy could possibly be as clueless as he'd come to believe.

"Mm, indeed, yes," said Butler, wincing as he altered his stance as discreetly as possible, futilely attempting to ease the strain on his nether regions. "Uncomfortable… Ah, no, unfortunate!" he corrected himself hastily. "Yes, very unfortunate."

Artemis tilted his head inquisitively. "Something the matter? You look…pained."

Butler shook his head. "Nothing, Master Artemis. Could I interest you in dinner?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

Artemis frowned, obviously not buying it. "Butler," he said, "I…" He paused, rethinking his words. Eventually, he sighed. "Butler, I've been foolish," he said, sounding as he were admitting to murder. "I…I've realized that I _don't_ know everything, and…" He licked his lips uncertainly. "I need your help. I need you to…teach me something."

Butler raised his eyebrows. This was new. "Teach you something? What exactly do you have in mind? In my experience, there are a rare few subjects, if any, that I'm more fully versed in than you."

"True. However-" Artemis' sentence ended cleanly as if cut with a scythe. Finally, he exclaimed, "Oh, gracious, I can't stand it one moment longer," and promptly slid from the bed, standing up and eliminating all but the last few inches of distance between them in a matter of moments. "Butler, whatever you do… Don't. Move," he commanded, and Butler had every intention of obeying his young master's command—that is, until Artemis began removing his shirt.

"Artemis! What on Earth-"

"Shh!" the genius reprimanded, that single sound silencing the hulking manservant more effectively than a boulder blow to the head ever could. "This…has irked me since you the second you emerged from the bathroom."

"My…shirt?"

"No, your buttons," said Artemis with a concentrated frown, fingers moving deftly over the small white circles even as he spoke. "I would have assumed that by this point you'd have learned to dress yourself, but-" Butler caught his charge's wrists, halting the boy mid-breath.

"Artemis," he warned, "I'm quite capable of doing that myself…"

Artemis only scowled. "Well _obviously_ you're not," he argued, "for if you were, you'd have done it right in the first place, now wouldn't you?"

"Artemis," Butler's breath hitched, the utterance scarcely a step above a moan. "Please…just…" He swallowed. "You don't know what you're doing."

"Well of course I don't!" Artemis snapped, looking altogether cross and dissatisfied as he finished up the last of the buttons in a flurry. "If I did, I'd be naked in your bed by now."

Butler choked.

"But _no_…you insist on obdurate chivalry, perpetual abstention from that for which you obviously yearn, solely for the purpose of abiding by the clichéd moral standards of the plebian public. Can you even begin to fathom the myriad frustrations this flawed line of thinking has caused me thus far? The figures are absolutely-"

Butler clamped a hand over his charge's mouth, silencing him most effectively. "Artemis," he said carefully. "Could you…for the sake of my massively more limited vocabulary…back up, slow down, and repeat everything important in very _slow_ English?"

Artemis narrowed his eyes, but only after he nodded did Butler remove his hand. "Very well," he agreed sullenly once returned the use of his mouth. "However, I find it difficult to believe even your vocabulary could fail to comprehend the first, and albeit most critical, of my admissions. That said, I have reason to assume that by this point you are in either shock or denial—neither of which are desirable means to the ends I wish to achieve—and whichever the case may be, I hope it is shortly remedied, for I do like getting what I want. You would agree I make quite a habit of it, wouldn't you?"

Butler swallowed. "Ah, yes." He was over twice the boy's age, nearly three times his weight, and almost half again his height; why the hell did he feel like cornered prey? "Most definitely…a habit."

"Excellent," said Artemis, his smile grim and uninviting. "Now, to comply with your previous request…" He fixated his manservant with a heavy stare. "I have known you all my life to be a man of action. You are clearly attracted to me, and I am trying—rather unprofessionally, I must admit—to make it known that your attentions are acknowledged and welcome. Why do you persist in denying yourself what is so openly offered?"

Butler fought the urge to clean out his ears. Could he really be hearing all this correctly? "Artemis, don't you know-" He stopped there. Of course Artemis knew. Artemis always knew. Why bother asking? Sighing, he dropped his hands to his sides and started over. "Artemis, you _know_ I'm multiple times your age, and a relationship of any...physical...sort would be, among other things, illegal. I-"

"Oh, and I'd never _dream_ of making you do something illegal," murmured Artemis sarcastically. "Butler," the Irish boy sounded exasperated if nothing else, "You've _killed_ people. There is no way you can start an argument with 'it's illegal' and expect to win. And besides, technically-"

"Artemis, I wasn't finished-"

"Neither was I," Artemis interrupted. "As I was saying…" Butler scowled. "Legally…I'm eighteen."

Butler's interest peaked. "Oh?"

"I lost three years in the time tunnel, yes, so my body has only aged fifteen years, _however_…when I returned to Earth, those three years had still passed, and now, as far as the law is concerned, I was born eighteen years ago. Even if I didn't experience all those years personally, I may still legally drink, drive, _and_…engage in sexual intercourse with anyone above of the age of eighteen who's willing to humor me—albeit not all at the same time."

Butler blinked. "How long have you been planning this speech?"

Color crept up Artemis' cheeks in a rosy pink stain, and the genius dipped his head, ushering his face behind a dark curtain of obsidian. "Approximately seven minutes," he murmured shamefacedly. "About the time I intruded upon your personal space without forewarning only to find you…mm…ill-prepared for dinner."

Torn between laughter and a dutiful poker face, Butler compromised with a quiet cough to the fist and a bemused twinkle in his eye. "I never would have taken you for the impatient type, Artemis. Seven minutes?"

The young mastermind scowled befittingly, looking rather put out. "That's not as if to say the thought had never crossed my mind previously," he defended sulkily, "merely that I hadn't summoned the courage to act on my intentions until…" He stopped, his words dying out swiftly as a cold shadow settled over his features, and Artemis swallowed, looking suddenly paler than usual.

"Artemis," Butler cautioned, instantly wary. "Until what?"

"Until…I…" Artemis brought nervous fingers to his neck as if to check his pulse, eyes downcast and brow fraught with guilt. Guilt? Odd. For the longest time Butler hadn't thought Artemis _had_ a conscience. "Forget I mentioned it," the boy said eventually, his voice parched and distracted. "I never should have…" He shut his eyes. "No. Just…forget I said anything."

When he turned to leave, however, Butler objected. "Artemis, wait-"

The boy's steps stuttered, slowed, and finally ceased. A foot from the door Artemis halted and reached out, resting his hand on the frame and eyeing it as he might any other object worthy of intense study. After a brief eternity he said, "In the prison cell…" Unfortunately, he didn't seem to plan on continuing the sentence any further.

"We've been in several, could you specify?" Butler prompted after several long moments. When Artemis glanced up, the look was enough to silence a raging troll on a sugar high. Butler held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, the prison cell, yes, I seem to recall that. It left you with a guilty conscience?" he guessed.

Artemis pursed his lips, tapping out a crude, rhythm-less beat on the doorframe with his fingertips. "If you recall from the time tunnel incident, I managed to…obtain…a minute portion of useable magic for my own—nearly insignificant, really, inconsequential. In a tight spot, however…"

_You used magic to make me cream my pants?_ "You used magic to help us escape?"

Artemis flushed as brightly as if Butler hadn't censored his words and gone straight with the first thing that came to mind. "I…in a sense, yes, I suppose. You wouldn't…" He strummed his fingers once more, frowning. Then, all the words came in a rush. "I used you," he admitted in a flurry. "For the first time in our history together you ignored my instruction and I was too foolish and impatient to come up with a more reasonable course of action on the spot so I…" He winced. "I _mesmered_ you."

Butler blinked. Well that explained some things. Still, Artemis Fowl on a guilt trip because he'd _mesmered_ someone sounded a lot like Domonvoi Butler hesitating to do something because it was illegal. Artemis thrived off of taking advantage of the world around him—and the people in it—daily, by any means necessary. Using a little magic to save his own skin didn't sound like much of a crime in comparison. Perhaps rules changed depending on the people they dealt with?

"With you in that state, I spoke to you and…you said things."

"Things," Butler repeated, almost incredulous. Not exactly up to Artemis' usual standard of verbal eloquence.

"Youtoldmeyoulovedme…andthatIwasbeautiful, and-"

"Artemis!"

"Yes?" Artemis snapped his head up as he said it; his body was trembling.

"Are you alright?"

Artemis laughed, the sound coarse, dry, and humorless. "My vital signs are all functioning within reasonable limits, I feel neither faint nor feverish and show no symptoms of recent intoxication, if that's what you mean." Butler frowned. "My face does feel rather flush though, and now that I think about it, I'm not sure my heart's performing quite up to standard. I'm trembling uncontrollably though I'm neither cold nor afraid…and I'm speaking utter gibberish." Artemis matched Butler's frown, looking rather vexed and uncharacteristically frazzled. At length he asked, "Do you recommend I consult a doctor?"

Butler threw his charge an odd look. Artemis sighed.

"You told me you loved me," the boy confessed, his words clear but quiet, barely above a whisper. If Butler had not had such keen ears, trained to pick up even the smallest of sounds, he might not have caught them. "Differently than a father would a son. I assumed…" Artemis cleared his throat, shifting his weight anxiously and refusing to meet Butler's gaze. "In retrospect, I see I had no right to assume. Neither did I have the right to take the information from you, however, I…" A sharply drawn breath. "I apologize. I am causing you unnecessary discomfort and it was not my intent. Do forgive me, I was…wrong." He spat the last word like a vile insect, the single most hated syllable in his vast mental dictionary. "At this point I can only hope my unfortunate lack of judgment has done nothing to jeopardize our friendship—for it is incontrovertibly the most successful relationship of that type that I've managed to maintain thus far…I've grown rather dependent upon it."

"I told you I loved you?"

Artemis raised his head, apparently startled by the questioning tone. "You do not?"

"I do," Butler answered, not seeing the point in lying. Artemis was far too smart for that anyway. Slowly, he began closing the distance between himself and his charge. "Is that all I told you?"

The Irish boy flushed. "Well…no. You…may have said a bit more. I…don't quite recall."

"Mm." Butler didn't believe it for a second; Artemis remembered everything. "And from this…bit of stuff I might have said, you assumed…what?" In the midst of his leisured pursuit, Artemis had somewhere along the line turned to face him, and now had his back to the wall, mismatched eyes turned upward with a curious expression somewhere on the borderline between interest and mystification. "That I entertained unprofessional fantasies about you behind a clever mask of stoic indifference?"

Artemis' cheeks flared, reaching an all new high in red coloration content. "I…well…it's just…" His breath fluttered, rushing from his lungs with a sound that reminded Butler of a flock of butterflies rising from a spring field all at once. Ebony lashes drooped shut. "You're sending mixed messages, Butler," Artemis accused quietly, his voice once again scarcely above a whisper.

"Am I?" Butler had one hand propped to the left of his charge's head, the other dangling free by his side, fighting with his common sense for permission to reach out and trace the rosy pink cheeks only inches before him. "Maybe I'm confused," he said.

Artemis' response was surprise—bewilderment, even. "Confused? But you're the calm, cool, collected adult in this situation…aren't you supposed to have all the answers?" He obviously wasn't serious, at least not entirely, but the irony behind the statement still brought on a faint twitch of a smile to Butler's lips.

"Not by a long shot."

"I see," said Artemis. His gaze had dropped to Butler's hand—the one that kept wanting to reach out and touch, the one that was becoming harder to ignore by the second. "What a shame. I would have liked to have had all the answers." Artemis reached out, brushed his fingers along the hand, then caught it delicately, tracing his thumb over the top as if finger-painting some invisible design. When Butler didn't withdraw, Artemis smiled. "Would you do something for me?"

_Anything_. Butler silenced the initial thought instantly, startled by its validity. "Am I allowed to ask what it is first?" he asked instead.

"No," came the reply.

"Then, yes," said Butler.

Artemis tilted his head, ushering several stray strands of dark hair from his line of sight and allowing him to meet Butler's gaze dead on. "Kiss me."

**A/N:** Hey, I got more reviews on the second part, whoot whoot! Thanks guys. (To everyone who read/reviewed.) I still think this story moved extremely fast. Then again, it was my first AF fic ever, and it was written to be a PWP for AFF sooo…I suppose that's a reason, if not an excuse. Carry on? :D

Yes. The next portion will be very…very…VERY "mature."


	4. Part Four

**WARNING: **This is the most explicit thing I've posted on FF dot net. I'm daring to post because I know I've seen things at least this erm, "detailed," shall we say, but just be warned that it IS that (detailed, that is). That in mind, carry on?

P.S. Some of this is not compatible with TTP, as it was written before that was published. 'Mmk?

**PART FOUR**

_Kiss me._

Did that classify as a direct order?

Butler swallowed.

Rule number one: _Protect the principal_.

Artemis' breath teased his lips—warm and gentle as a spring breeze, sweetly reminiscent of coconut.

Rule number two: _Follow orders_.

Centuries of history swung in the balance of that moment, centuries of duty, honor, and professionalism—Butlers serving Fowls unerringly, without hesitation. How did the saying go? Rules were made to be broken.

Domovoi's mouth descended on his client's.

Heart rate, muscle tension, body temperature: on contact, information flooded his senses with the abrupt force of a broken levee. Artemis was tense, rigid from the tips of his restless fingers to the balls of his feet. In his chest, his heart stuttered rapidly, like a caged hummingbird thumping at the walls of its enclosure in an attempt to break free, and though he made no move to withdraw, his stance radiated uncertainty. All this, Butler noted in under a second.

"Artemis," he began. Instantly, the hand in his tightened its grip, forbidding his withdrawal. "You must breathe, Artemis," he advised, running a thumb soothingly over his charge's knuckles, "if you plan on remaining conscious."

Artemis laughed then, brittle and breathless but real. "Of that," he said, "I am perfectly aware. Unfortunately," he cleared his throat, "I am rapidly discovering that practice is, in fact, far more complicated than principle. I…mm." He frowned as the words drifted off. "I've never…never actually…"

"Never been kissed?" Butler sounded surprised.

Artemis' cheeks flared. "Something to that effect," he confessed uncertainly. "Should I have?"

An image of some foreign figure with their lips to Artemis' flashed, uncalled for, into Butler's mind, and for an irrational second, a sudden innate desire to eviscerate the mysterious culprit swamped him with disturbing ferocity. Frowning, he shook his head to quell the violent instinct. "Not necessarily," he said. "Only…" Somehow 'You're far too pretty to have avoided getting kissed for this long,' didn't sound quite right, even in his head.

"The…proper circumstances failed to arise, I suppose," explained Artemis, avoiding mention of the fact that he'd never really _wanted_ to kiss anyone but Butler anyway.

Butler gave his charge a curious look. "And are these what you deem to be proper circumstances?"

Artemis' blush deepened. As far as he was concerned, any circumstance that involved Butler and himself and no one else was plenty proper enough, but he wasn't about to blurt it out loud. "I…thought it was high time I worked on my people skills," he said instead. "You're the only one I trust with the task. Unless you'd rather I seek out someone else?"

A hazy red cloud of violence again reared its head at the thought of anyone else laying so much as their little finger on the Fowl heir, and Butler stamped it out stubbornly, resisting the urge to grit his teeth. Apparently, he'd let on plenty enough through his expression, though, because by the time he reigned control of his groundless jealous tendencies, Artemis was smiling at him far too knowingly for his liking.

"I thought not," was all he said.

White light flashed through the room, followed almost immediately by a straight clap of thunder that made the paneled glass windows shake in their frames. Overhead, the light fixtures dimmed, then went dark. Artemis frowned, long shadows accenting his look of disapproval.

"Butler, I was under the impression that Fowl Manor-"

"Auxiliary power should-" The lights cut back on. "See?" A second flash, this time accompanied by a simultaneous boom, shook the house, and all lights in the room fizzled, then died with an unpromising pop. It was Butler's turn to frown.

"Yes," said Artemis in the resulting darkness. "I see. Or, more precisely, I don't see."

"My room is not equipped with such an elaborate backup system as yours," the bodyguard explained after a moment. "You should still have complete access from your computers, should you wish to tap it."

"Ah. And the house alarms?"

"Intact. The house's security works separately from the luxury power unit." Butler eyed his charge, and after a moment added, "You are safe here."

Artemis gave him a strange look. "I never doubted that," he said quietly.

"Good."

Rain tittered on the windowpanes like scattered Morse code. Outside, a low wind howled and the thunder answered with a staggered drum roll. For a moment, Artemis fancied he could hear his heartbeat over the storm, and he shut his eyes, a held breath escaping him through a broken sigh.

"Butler," he began.

"Are your parents home?"

Artemis' brow furrowed. He opened his eyes and faced his bodyguard with a sort of dull, perplexed expression, as if he couldn't quite comprehend the question. "My parents…?" he repeated, and then it dawned on him and he shut his eyes again with a quiet "Oh," of comprehension. "No," he replied at last. "They're…out," he filled in vaguely with a distracted wave of his hand, his mind obviously on other things.

"And the twins?" Butler prompted.

"With mother."

"Artemis."

"Hm?" Artemis barely stirred.

"To what extent, and at what rate were you intending to work on your…people skills?"

Artemis looked up sharply, his mismatched eyes starkly vivid against the black and white backdrop of skin and shadow. In the strange light, his usually pallor skin seemed almost to glow, and as Butler watched, his lips curved up into the faintest of smirks. "Surely you know me by now, Butler," he said with a barely detectable hint of mischief. "I want to know everything," He met his bodyguard's gaze dead on, "now."

Butler's stomach did an odd flip, and he swallowed a groan as blood pooled far too low in his gut for mention in polite society. When he caught Artemis' chin between his fingertips, the boy's eyes never wavered, and he cursed his weakness as he murmured, "Let's try this again, then, shall we?" and bent to claim forbidden fruit once more.

For the first half second, Artemis tried to approach the reality of being kissed as he would any other incident worthy of scientific study. Of course, he quickly failed. Too many things distracted him.

For starters, Butler's lips were a great deal softer than he expected—and warmer. For some reason, he had always assumed kissing his manservant might be something like going head to head with a slightly fleshy boulder. This was nothing of the sort.

Secondly, he found himself increasingly aware of every minute point their bodies came in contact, almost to a hypersensitive degree. For instance, Butler's hand, after leading him into the initial kiss, had never quite left his face. It now lingered somewhere between the base of his jaw and the nape of his neck, leaving the flesh there hot and tingly in a not altogether unpleasant way. Also, Butler's other hand, which Artemis had forgotten almost completely about until that moment, had gravitated from some unknown place at his side to within half an inch of his left hip. There it currently resided, radiating body heat, and making him wonder if he just shifted his weight ever so slightly…

Butler caught the movement in an instant, pinning Artemis—if only very loosely—to the wall in a moment's notice and effectively stilling him. Immediately, a spiral of heat coiled in Artemis' gut, and he nearly whimpered aloud at the foreign sensation. A far distant corner of his mind questioned the strength of his reaction to being restrained at the hands of his own bodyguard, but he dismissed it all but before it came to him, far too preoccupied to let it bother him at present. Besides, Butler's mouth had begun to change tactics and required his full attention once more.

French kissing, as Artemis had perceived it all his life, was, in essence, a rather messy, time consuming sport that amounted to little more than a clumsy exchange of saliva in vast quantities for many minutes, if not hours, on end, depending on the patience and endurance of the persons involved. Preconceived notions aside, he rather quickly found actual participation in the ritual to be immensely more pleasurable than he originally presumed.

At Butler's first prompting, Artemis' lips spread eagerly almost of their own accord, and the resulting entanglements succeeded in robbing him of just about everything he'd ever valued in himself, including, but not limited to, rational thought, natural level-headedness, and the ever-underappreciated ability to breathe. Butler's kiss was gentle, but utterly dominating, and left Artemis' usually keen mind in a sort of fevered haze. The world as he knew it shrank on its axis until it included only himself and Butler in a tiny squadron of space just large enough to hold the two of them. All else ceased to exist.

When the contact broke, Artemis mourned the loss with a soft whine of protest, but his discontent was short-lived. In less than a second, Butler shifted his area of focus from Artemis' lips to his neck, and only then did he discover the true meaning of breathlessness. The effect was dizzying.

The air in his lungs went hot and dry and caught in his throat with every inhale. He felt his pulse everywhere, from his scalp to the tips of his fingers, and it throbbed wildly, as if trying to break free of his skin itself. As Butler's kisses traveled lower still, Artemis' legs began, barely perceptibly, to tremble, making him seriously doubt how much longer they could hold him upright. It didn't escape Butler's notice.

"Artemis," the bodyguard cautioned quietly, "are you-"

"Positive," gasped Artemis breathlessly. "As you were." After a moment of silence and no action, Artemis' eyes—which he hadn't realized he'd closed—fluttered open, and he found Butler watching him. Guilt, need, and pure, unadulterated reverence poured from that gaze, and Artemis' legs nearly buckled on the spot. What great thing had he ever done to deserve this?

"There will be no turning back," Butler warned, his voice heavy with restraint.

Artemis shuddered. "That option…disappeared long before you kissed me."

Two seconds of eternity passed silently between them. Then, something in Butler relaxed, and he nodded. A moment later, Artemis' feet left the ground.

Artemis' body felt tiny, almost insignificant, in Butler's arms, and he frowned slightly, wondering if a teenage boy should really weigh so little. Before he could delve too deeply into his concern, however, Artemis' arms circled his neck, and Butler shoved the thoughts aside for another time. Artemis' breath was hot and distracting against his chest, and he had far more pressing matters to attend to than weight-gain programs for his client.

"Remove your shoes," he said as they arrived at the edge of the bed, and Artemis complied instantly, two padded thuds immediately following the issuance of his command.

The bed made virtually no sound as he lowered Artemis to the sheets, and the silk and feather coverlet seemed almost to swallow his minute figure whole, but the resulting effect was a sight for starving eyes. Shadows of raindrops skittered across a once pale face, now brightly aglow in the moonlight. Long black lashes stained pink cheeks, flushed as if with fever, and many a rapid breath fluttered from between parted peach lips, still damp and glistening with evidence of their recent endeavors. After several moments, Artemis' brow furrowed faintly, though his eyes remained closed, and he tilted his head against the pillow.

"Butler?" he inquired quietly.

"Yes?" said Butler, drawn from his reverie.

"Would you do something for me?"

Butler eyed his charge: a fifteen-year-old, unfeasibly brilliant world-savior, imbued with the timeless magic of impish warlocks and primary heir to a mass fortune greater than any sane man could spend in twenty lifetimes, let alone one—not to mention the sole focus of the last eighteen years of Butler's life. He had nearly died for the boy on countless occasions, and Artemis had saved his life more than once. What would Domovoi Butler do for Artemis Fowl?

"Anything," said Butler. And he meant it.

Artemis smiled. "You don't want to know what it is first?"

Butler leaned over his charge, something to the effect of a large beast of prey, the tail feathers of its quarry finally caught in its paws. Artemis raised his eyebrows, unabashed and almost challenging. "At this point, I hardly think it matters."

"I suppose you're right," Artemis consented, "but the word is so often tossed about flippantly, so rarely said in earnest, I simply-" A finger to his lips hushed him instantly, and Butler eyed him with an odd mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"Must you always overanalyze such things?" he asked, and Artemis' cheeks pinked.

"I suppose it depends on your definition of over-analysis," he responded quietly.

"Hn." Butler dipped his head, tracing his lips gently along the boy's jaw and shutting his eyes as Artemis shuddered. "What was it you wanted, again?" he asked.

"I…" Artemis' cheeks colored fetchingly, and he drew a rather shaky breath. "It's just…" He swallowed, and when he looked up, his expression had an almost desperate quality to it that pulled at Butler's heart. "Don't hold back. Please?"

It was a request to eradicate social boundaries, to forget, completely, at least for that night, that they were master and servant, employer and staff. It was a request for honesty, equality, and devotion without compromise. Domovoi bent forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Artemis' forehead.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said.

The kisses that followed were maddeningly soft. Each seemed to build off the last, so that by the time Butler had made it from his forehead to his lips, along his jaw, and down to his throat, Artemis was swallowing erratically to keep from panting. His skin remembered every point of contact, and tingled at each, as if branded. By the time Butler made it to the base of his neck, worrying his collarbone teasingly, Artemis was biting his lip not to whine outright.

"Butler," he managed between staggered breaths, "could you…" His words died prematurely. Instead, he shut his eyes and shivered, suppressing the urge to squirm as Butler's hands deftly skimmed the length of his shirt. Despite his solitary nature, his manservant obviously wasn't totally unpracticed in the art of clothing removal, Artemis noted distractedly.

The fine silk felt cool as it slid back from his chest, baring his sensitized skin to the even cooler night air, and Artemis felt the familiar prickle of oncoming goosebumps. Then Butler's fingers grazed his stomach, and he drew a sharp breath, all feelings of cold gone.

Heat coursed through him, starting with a tight knot in the pit of his stomach, then snaking its way up his spine like a series of rapid-fire sparks set off in a domino effect. At some point, it occurred to Artemis that perhaps he should contribute more to the process, but his train of thought ended about there. For starters, he was about as familiar with his current situation as the latest teen-pop bimbo was with complex logarithms. Secondly, Butler seemed every bit capable of getting them to wherever they were going without his help—which was actually very fortunate, since, despite all his talk, Artemis had only a vague idea of where exactly that might be. That line of thought did, however, bring to mind a question that Artemis' infallible curiosity made him just bold enough to voice—that is, if he could find the breath to voice it with.

"Butler?" he inquired rather breathlessly, frowning at the trill quality of his own voice and making a mental note to steady it.

"Hn," Butler grunted his acknowledgement without raising his head.

"W-when…" Cursing his disheveled state, Artemis grit his teeth, swallowed his words, and started over, determined to be articulate. "When was the last time you," he waved his hand vaguely, "this…?"

This time, Butler did look up, and with a raised eyebrow to boot. " 'This', Artemis," he said, "is something most people refer to as having sex." Artemis' stomach somersaulted. For some reason, the word 'sex' on Butler's lips positively thrilled everything that defined him as a teenage male, and he bit his lower lip, rightfully worried that if he didn't, he might make any number of undignified noises. "If referring to it in plain terms is too much for you, then you certainly have no business participating in-"

"Sex," Artemis nearly choked on the word in his haste to get it out. Immediately, he blushed. "I mean…what I was going to say was…I…" Butler kissed his nose, instantly halting the tumbled string of words, and Artemis blinked, bewildered. A second later, he let out a fluttered breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, and he felt Butler's smile against him, warm and comforting.

"You must breathe, Artemis," his manservant advised kindly. So he did. And it helped.

When Butler's mouth brushed the corner of his own, Artemis turned into it, initiating a sound kiss that melted his anxieties like sugar cubes in steaming coffee. By the time they parted, there wasn't a part of him that wasn't warm and tingly. He met Butler's gaze and took a breath.

"When was the last time you had sex?" he asked.

Butler chuckled softly. It reminded Artemis of distant thunder. "Since you worked so hard to ask…" Artemis narrowed his eyes dangerously. "…eighteen years." The annoyed expression disappeared, replaced instantly by sudden insight and, albeit, confusion.

"But, that would mean," said Artemis, frowning, " that you haven't…not since… And why ever not?"

Butler shrugged the question aside with a vague roll of his shoulders. "Mine is a solitary lifestyle. I knew it when I took up training, I bound myself to it when I dedicated my life to the protection of yours, and," He held up a finger to hush Artemis' protests, "never once have I regretted it."

"But…what about the years I was gone? Three years, you could have-"

"Could have what, Artemis?" It was the first time Artemis had ever heard anger in Butler's voice. "Believe it or not, I wasn't exactly in the mood to go celebrate my freedom by jumping down the pants of the first man willing to take my money. I thought you had _died_, Artemis, and without you, I…" The sentence fell apart there, and guilt wrenched at Artemis more sharply than a knife wound. He wished he'd never pressed the issue.

"Butler, I," he swallowed. "Domovoi…" The man who had protected him all his life looked up, and Artemis saw pain, and fear, and loss in eyes he once thought to be invincible. Tentatively, he reached out, barely touching as he traced the features of a face he'd known almost better than his own since the day of his birth. "I never knew," he said quietly. "Forgive me?"

Domovoi shuddered faintly. Then, he turned his head into the hand on his cheek, and kissed Artemis' palm with a tenderness that stole his breath away. "Just…never die again…alright, Artemis?"

"Mn…r-right," murmured Artemis, rapidly loosing cognitive functions once again as Butler's mouth proceeded to trail kisses from his inner wrist, down the underside of his arm. "I'll…do my best."

"Good," said Domovoi, and Artemis sensed the time for talk had ended.

Each moment melded into the next. Gentle hands guided him into a sitting position, slipping his open shirt from his shoulders and running the length of his back when he shivered. Needy kisses lead him from one action to another and somewhere along the line, Artemis found himself in Butler's lap, his legs spread to either side of the man's waist and his bare chest pressed against the coarse fabric of the man's shirt. Sudden, intense dislike for that shirt hit him with startling alacrity, and he caught the front of it, feeling his heart stutter pleasantly at the rock solid nature of what lay beneath it.

"This," he murmured, giving the cloth a curt tug, "will have to go."

"Hn. Indeed," Domovoi agreed, and Artemis watched with rapt fascination as his bodyguard stripped, large hands skimming over the long string of ivory buttons with practiced grace and broad shoulders rolling effortlessly as he shirked the offensive material. For a moment, Artemis could only stare.

Butler's body drew to mind an age of sweat and steel long since buried by the centuries—one where brawn and brutality reigned and the last man standing took all. Under Artemis' trembling fingers, the ridges of his stomach felt like living granite, and Artemis' head prickled with a dizzying sensation as he again fought the urge to squirm.

"Domovoi," he pleaded. By that point, he cared little that it sounded like a whimper, his throat dry and breath hot, even against his own lips. His body ached with foreign need far beyond his comprehension, and he _wanted_ so bad it hurt.

Luckily, Butler understood, even if Artemis didn't, and he lowered his young charge back onto the sheets, capturing pliant lips tenderly in his own and savoring the taste of Artemis' moan. Eventually, he murmured, "Strip," and Artemis never once considered the oddity of receiving orders as opposed to giving them. He complied without a second thought.

Two pairs each of socks, pants and boxers slid from the bed to the floor with a swift rustle of cloth, and Artemis' first coherent comment upon being naked in the bed of his bodyguard was, "Oh, my."

Domovoi regarded his wide-eyed charge, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Artemis waved his hand, stalling any concerned comments.

"Never mind that," he said, though his voice wavered faintly. "Just…uh…" He swallowed. "What's next?"

Domovoi frowned. "Artemis, are you-"

"Oh, good heavens, Butler, I swear to every genius, god, and philosopher, living or dead, ever to have walked this planet or existed in the minds of man or sprite since the dawn of time that I have never in my life been more ready for-"

"Lubrication," Domovoi said, answering Artemis' previous question.

"Lotion?"

"Acceptable."

Artemis raised his hand, and Domovoi watched with mixed puzzlement and curiosity as his master's hand began to glow, dim at first, then brighter, dancing with tiny blue sparks. Then, Artemis was holding a small rectangular container, and he promptly held it out saying calmly, as if nothing even mildly out of the ordinary had just occurred, "Will this do?"

Domovoi accepted the bottle, trying very hard not to look as startled as he felt, and glanced at the label: pomegranate-martini, deep cleansing body lotion. "It should," he said eventually. Then, unable to resist, he asked, "How much gnome magic, exactly, did you say you…borrowed?"

"Stole," Artemis corrected. "I have no intention of returning it." He eyed the lotion as Butler popped the cap and frowned at the pinkish-orange color of its contents. "Honestly, I'm not exactly sure how much I took," he admitted, making a valiant effort not to stare as his manservant spread the substance over his fingers. "My control of it is limited and I'm still in the experimental stages." After a brief pause, Artemis pursed his lips. "Butler-"

"On your stomach."

Warily, Artemis complied, turning on his stomach and crossing his hands primly beneath his chin as he settled into the pillow. "Butler," he began again, "are you really planning on putting that up my a-_Ohhmygodthatscold_!" Artemis arched away with his outcry, and keened with displeasure when a hand pinned him back down, holding him in place by the hip. "Domovoi," he whined, wriggling against pin and pouting, "that lotion…is positively…frigid."

"Come, now, Artemis, I barely touched you…"

Artemis shot an accusing glare over his shoulder. "It. Was. Cold."

"Hn." Domovoi leaned forward, and Artemis squeaked with a jerk of surprise as teeth nipped his ear—not nearly forceful enough to hurt, but plenty enough to catch him off guard. Then, a gentle tongue proceeded to trace the bite mark, and Artemis' brain functions promptly went on rudimentary lock-down. "Allow me to apologize for my grave errors, young Master," Domovoi purred, his words like humid fire as they snaked their way down Artemis' neck and raised shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with cold. "Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"

"Ungh," Artemis groaned, several nondescript mutterings muffled by the pillow beneath him. "Vile, iniquitous, manipulating excuse for a…oh! Yes! Please…yes…forgiven… Domovoi…" Artemis bit his lower lip, eyes closed and fingers now fisted in the pillows as his bodyguard's throaty chuckle reverberated against the back of his neck.

"So merciful, Artemis," Domovoi murmured teasingly, and Artemis mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'just you wait,' but it was impossible to tell. Unperturbed, Domovoi smiled, bending to kiss his temporarily-subdued master between the shoulder blades before kindly assuring him, "The lotion _will_ warm up."

Partly out of respect for Artemis' apparent temperature sensitivity, and partly because the boy simply looked beautiful laying exactly the way he was, Butler started at the middle of his back this time, taking smaller portions and letting the lotion warm slightly on his fingers before rubbing small, smooth circles down his charge's back. If Artemis had any violent objections to smelling strongly of pomegranate martini for the next few hours, he didn't voice them.

In no rush to finish, Domovoi took his time, enjoying the silken feel of young, unmarred skin beneath his fingertips, and savoring the occasional pleasured shiver his attentions induced. As he went, he felt the tension leaving his charge—taut muscles slowly growing more lax, rigid shoulders drooping slightly into the welcoming cradle of the pillow below—and it soothed his own nerves. By the time he reached the boy's waist, Artemis' breathing was slow and even, and for a moment, Domovoi almost wondered if he had fallen asleep. One sweep of his thumbs below the boy's waistline, however, and a stuttered spike in heart rate told him otherwise.

As if reading his mind, Artemis chose that moment to speak up. "Yes, I am awake," he said, voice heavy with the air of someone woken from a trance, and Butler chuckled, soft and low. When the fingers dipped low once more, skimming just above the base of his spine, Artemis breathed a wavering sigh. "And if I wasn't before," he added with hint of breathlessness, "I certainly am now."

"Good," said Domovoi, kissing his charge's shoulder. "This will work much better if both of us are conscious." His hand lingered at Artemis' tailbone. "It will also work much better if you try to remain relaxed," he advised seriously, and after a moment, Artemis nodded in understanding. "Good," he said again, and below him, Artemis shut his eyes, taking a deep breath and making a very valiant effort not to tense every muscle in his body.

Domovoi was excruciatingly gentle—Artemis wouldn't have expected anything less—but it didn't change the fact that fingers were _not_ made for going up arses, and it felt, for lack of a better word, bizarre. The lotion was still lukewarm at best, slick, and strange. Domovoi's invasion did not hurt, per say, but it was foreign and vaguely unsettling despite Artemis' best efforts to reassure himself. Apparently, his insecurities did not go unnoticed.

"Try to breathe slowly," Domovoi suggested, his voice calm and reassuring to Artemis' ear. "The strangeness of it will fade as your body adjusts, but it may help to think of something else at first to distract yourself."

"S-something…else," Artemis repeated. "R-right." Doing his best to mentally block out the actions of Butler's slicked digits in his unaccustomed body, he racked his brain for a distraction. "The…umm…square root of a right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides. Force is equal to mass times acceleration. The speed of light in a vacuum is two-hundred and ninety-nine million…_oh heavens_," He bit his lip to muffle himself as Butler added a second finger, then took a breath and continued, "seven-hundred and ninety-two…_ngh_…thousand, four-hundred and fifty-eight m-meters per…oh…second…mmm…" Artemis whimpered, curling his toes and rocking backwards onto Domovoi's hand. "D-domovoi…I'm…I'm not sure this distraction thing is…working…entirely the way it…should."

"Oh?" Domovoi added the third and final finger, eliciting a bedraggled moan from his keening employer. "Does this still feel strange?"

"S-strange? Umm…" A finger curled inside him, and for a moment, Artemis thought his body had entered spontaneous combustion—white light bursting behind his eyelids, heat sweeping every inch of his body. By the time he could speak again, he was shaking. "N-no, actually," he managed hoarsely. "Strange is not the…mm…the precise word I would choose to express my current sentiments."

"Ah, then see? The distraction worked perfectly." Domovoi nuzzled aside coal black locks, damp with sweat, and kissed the nape of Artemis' neck. "You're brilliant, Artemis."

"Nhn…really?" Artemis moved almost instinctively now, barely conscious of his actions as he rocked back and forth to the rhythm Butler's fingers provided. "I never would have…guessed," he panted. The comment earned him a curt pinch to the rear, and he yelped. When he threw an aghast look over his shoulder, Butler met it with raised eyebrows.

"Ever tried modesty on for size, Artemis?" he asked.

Artemis wrinkled his nose. "Not a good fit," he said. "Modesty is for insecure conformers with no…_ah_…self-respect or…_gracious_…confidence in their own…abilities."

"Is that so?" Domovoi removed his fingers, and Artemis positively whined, earning himself a rumbled chuckle. "No modesty or patience, Artemis? You're starting to sound immoral…"

Artemis snorted, spreading his legs at Domovoi's gentle prompting and subconsciously gripping the headboard for support. "I'm fifteen years old, naked, sweaty, and panting in the bed of my bodyguard, about to loose my virginity to a man twice my age, three times my size, and," He swallowed, "I wouldn't be anywhere else for the world. You want to talk about morality?"

His pale hands were trembling against the headboard as Domovoi caught his hip, guiding his body into position, bracing him, and a painful constricting in his throat caught him off-guard. Even this did not escape Domovoi's notice.

"You are beautiful, Artemis," Domovoi promised him. "Beautiful, and brilliant, and I love you…more than life itself. If this is not every iota of what you want, I will stop, and I will wait for you…no matter how long it takes. I want for nothing but your happiness. Do you understand that?"

Artemis shivered, fear and doubt melting like winter before spring, and he nodded. "Yes," he said finally, "I understand. And this _is_ what I want…I promise." It was all the reassurance Domovoi needed.

Artemis heard hands fumbling in the sheets, presumably searching for the lotion, then a quiet squirt followed almost instantly by a sharply indrawn breath. He couldn't help but smirk. "It's cold, isn't it?" he asked. Above him, Domovoi groaned.

"Artemis," he sounded almost pained, obviously talking from between grit teeth, and Artemis almost took pity on him. Almost. After several seconds, Domovoi breathed a heavy sigh and muttered, "Yes, Artemis, it's cold. Are you quite happy now?"

Artemis chuckled. "Quite."

"Good." Domovoi leaned in then, and his breath was a hot stream of fire against the shell of Artemis' ear as he growled, "Brace yourself."

Artemis need not be told twice.

Penetration hurt—a lot. Something like what he might expect sitting on a hokey stick might feel like—or a telephone pole. Worse, he knew Domovoi was making every effort to be gentle. When Butler paused, Artemis' knuckles where white on the headboard, his forehead was gleaming with sweat, and his entire body was trembling like a leaf. He had yet to make a sound. Finally, he swallowed thickly, only to find his throat parched and dry.

"Does this…get any…better?" he panted hoarsely.

Behind him, Domovoi grunted. "Yes," he said. "Eventually."

"Mnh." Artemis grit his teeth. "Any idea…when?"

"None…whatsoever."

Artemis shut his eyes, and his tongue flicked out to catch the perspiration gathering on his upper lip. "Fuck," he said.

A long pause followed. Then, "I didn't know you knew that word. Are you alright?"

"Generally, I view profanity as a careless vandalization of language committed only by those who lack the vocabulary to express their sentiments more proficiently. However, on rare occasions, it can be a extremely efficient and satisfying way to get a point across." Artemis flexed his fingers on the headboard. "In answer to your question…I feel like I'm giving birth to a horse through my ass…backwards."

"Ah." Domovoi frowned. "In that case…I suppose I'll give some leeway on the profanity."

"Much obliged."

Time dragged on infinitely. Artemis ached from his numbing white fingers to his tightly curled toes. His ears hummed with a buzzing loud enough to rival a thousand enraged wasps and his temples thudded dizzyingly with every staggered heartbeat. Then, very suddenly, it all stopped. Mostly. He could hear himself breathe again, and moment's later, he picked out Butler's breathing as well. Slowly, he realized that the other had finally stopped, and with that realization came many more.

First, despite the almost comically vast contrast between Butler's immense frame and Artemis', well, slightly less daunting one, Artemis' body had somehow taken the punishment of every single inch Domovoi had to give and managed to remain completely intact—a good first step. Second, though he had initially doubted the possibility of his current situation ever being even remotely 'comfortable,' he now found it a great deal more bearable. Domovoi's chest and stomach felt good against Artemis' back, all lean muscle and predatory strength that rippled with lethal promise every time he took a breath, and his hand felt good at Artemis' waist, powerful, protective, and possessive all at once.

Artemis let a hand drop from the headboard, and his heart fluttered when Domovoi's caught it, warmth flooding his chest as their fingers tangled as intimately as their bodies. Then, Domovoi's lips grazed his shoulder, and Artemis decided the current situation was definitely several cuts above 'bearable.'

"Are you hurting?"

The question came out across his neck this time, sparking a hot prickle of feeling low in Artemis' gut, and he quickly shook his head, the word 'hurt' effectively wiped from his vocabulary by Domovoi's lips and hands as they proceeded to trace slow, teasing patterns across his already over sensitized skin.

"N-no," he said. "Not," The words stalled in his throat, Domovoi's teeth tugging ever so maddeningly lightly at his earlobe, and Artemis swallowed, eyes shut as he gasped loosely, "Not anymore."

When Domovoi moved, Artemis forgot to breathe. Slow, agonizing strokes sent heat, pain, and euphoria clawing up every nerve in his body. His muscles drew taut and his instincts teetered between screaming for it to end and begging for it never to stop. His lungs burned and only Domovoi's hand in his rooted him to this world; he clutched at it for life and sanity.

Slowly, gradually the pain wore away, as promised—long, patient movements working it back bit by bit until, after a desperate eternity, Artemis finally knew nothing but blessed delirium. For the first time in his life, he disregarded thought completely. He surrendered himself to the overwhelming wash of unfamiliar, yet unbelievably addicting sensations sweeping his body and put his complete trust—as he always had—in Butler. It yielded positive results, to say the least.

Domovoi moved with the same steady, uncompromised self-assurance that he did in all other ventures. He knew what Artemis' body craved long before Artemis himself, and, with a few scattered touches, could bring him, trembling, to the outermost brink of insanity, only to hold off at the last minute and leave him shaking with unsatisfied need. Artemis might have deemed the situation worth swearing over if he could have found the breath to utter more than a broken moan.

Then, Domovoi struck something in him, and for a brief second, the world as Artemis knew it fell out from under him. When he returned to it, he hastened to re-swallow his heart and lungs before gasping, "Butler, what, pray tell, was _that_?"

"You aced anatomy, Artemis," Domovoi reminded him.

Artemis groaned. Had the man always been this difficult? He couldn't remember. Something about the way Domovoi was moving was making it nearly impossible to concentrate. "P-prostate," he whispered finally, and hot air tickled the shell of his ear as Butler rewarded his answer with a soft chuckle and a kiss to the neck.

"Precisely," he said.

Artemis snorted and opened his mouth, every bit intent on spouting some witty retort when suddenly, the option disappeared. One strike to _that spot_, and fifteen years of painstakingly cultivated highborn etiquette burst into flame. Fowls did not beg; neither did they scream, but Artemis was very near being driven insane by the urge to do both as he arched back helplessly into Domovoi's advances and buried his moans in the pillow below. Of all the things in life impossible to learn about from textbooks, sex had to be at the top of the list.

It was cruel, exquisite torture. It did to rigorous morals what good soap did to tough stains. Within minutes, Artemis had decided that perhaps Fowls might be permitted to beg only on very special occasions—or when under extreme stress. Just to be on the safe side, he shut his eyes and bit his tongue as Domovoi hit again. When Domovoi's hand slipped down from his hip to skim the spans of his stomach, however, skirting dangerously close to where Artemis abruptly realized he _desperately_ wanted it, morals disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Domovoi," he whined piteously, making every effort to convince himself that grinding his hips wantonly into the sheets as he begged his manservant to bring him off was not half as degrading as a great many other things he could have been doing at that moment. "Please…"

Mercifully, Domovoi required no further prompting. When sure fingers first skimmed the length of his aching arousal, Artemis jerked into the touch, lips parting with a sharp, choked cry that died almost before it started. Immediately after, he whimpered, and his body shook as Domovoi's hand closed around him, instinct warring fiercely with his last shred of pride as Artemis struggled not to buck directly into the grip in a fervent search for much needed friction.

Logistically, it shouldn't have felt much different than his own hand—save for perhaps being larger and a good deal more calloused—but, to hell with reason, there was no comparison. Domovoi's touch set off firecrackers in his brain, and in combination with the same slow, steady strokes that turned his fecund mind to mush, Artemis could do nothing but quiver and pray. Before the pace sped up, Artemis had cursed in five languages, prayed to twelve separate religious deities, and conveniently forgotten every code of refined conduct ever taught him. By the time the pace finally did speed up, it was all worth it.

No language Artemis knew had words apt to describe his sentiments then—and Artemis knew a lot of languages. It felt as if he'd been left dangling for eternity, suspended thousands of feet up on some flimsy thread until he didn't care what lie below, so long as he no longer had to hang in suspense, and finally, _finally_, something had come along to snap the thread. Pursuit of that final snap consumed him.

Meanwhile, Domovoi sensed his charge's approaching climax and purposefully tightened his movements. Artemis' body was tight, taut, and smooth from every angle—like hot silk to the touch—and the noises he made, despite his obvious attempts to muffle them, drove Domovoi positively mad in the best way possible. As the irregularity of Artemis' anxious writhing increased, Domovoi fought to retain his control, knowing with an almost primal instinct that neither of them would last much longer. Drawn by a savory patch of ivory, he bent forward, claiming a last taste of the sweet skin and salt sweat of Artemis' neck. He smiled when Artemis' lithe figure grew instantly rigid to the touch, an unmistakable prelude to release.

Cultured aristocrats did not scream, but tonight, Artemis would make an exception. With hot lips at his neck, sure hands at his straining arousal, and an adamant body buried deep in his own, Artemis' world shattered like a glass rose on concrete. Orgasm overtook him with the dizzying force of a seismic quake, and he surrendered to it, shuddering his release into the previously pristine sheets and arching one final time against Domovoi's onslaught before collapsing entirely. He noted Domovoi's consequent completion moments later with the offhanded, complacent air of one thoroughly satisfied and driven far beyond the point of exhaustion.

For a time, they simply lay there, breathless and panting, intimately entwined, and each too utterly spent to bother initiating movement. Only the muffled pitter-patter of a misty rain outside kept it from a perfect silence.

Then, with unruffled nonchalance that only a Fowl could muster under such unconventional circumstances, Artemis gave a contented yawn and announced sleepily to the wide world in general, "I'm hungry."

Above him, Domovoi groaned. Taking care not to move brashly, even at this stage, he slowly untangled himself from his young charge. Rolling slightly to the side so as not to crush Artemis' frailer figure, he too succumbed to collapsing in the sheets. After a moment he said, "Did you have anything in mind?" He heard the sheets rustle and glanced to the side to find Artemis staring at him with an oddly fond expression he was nearly positive he'd never seen before.

"You would do that, wouldn't you," said Artemis, making it a statement, not a question. He propped his head up on one elbow to better scrutinize his bodyguard. "If I asked it of you, you would get up, get dressed, go downstairs, prepare any dinner of my choosing, and bring it up here to me, despite the fact that I'd almost surely be fast asleep by the time you finished?"

Butler shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "If you asked it of me, yes, of course…though I can't promise I'd get dressed."

For some reason, Artemis' cheeks grew extremely pink with the last comment, and Butler chuckled, a low, brassy rumble that did nothing to help Artemis' condition. Pouting, Artemis slapped his chest good-naturedly, something to the effect of throwing a feather at a brick wall. "You…I let you get away with too much," he scolded.

"Hn." Butler smiled, noting without comment that Artemis' hand lingered on his chest where he hit. "Do you now?"

"Indeed," murmured Artemis, and somehow, they'd made it close enough so that when Artemis leaned up and Butler leaned down, their lips tangled, soft and lazy. When they separated, Artemis regarded his lover through a half-lidded gaze. "Have I ever told you you're wonderful?" he asked quietly, and Butler brushed back a free-falling strand of black silk.

"Not that I recall," he replied, and Artemis shut his eyes, leaning contentedly into the touch.

"Hm…in that case, I'll have to make a point to inform you more often." He kissed Butler's palm. "You're wonderful."

Butler smiled. "Are you still hungry?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Artemis, "but I'd rather you sleep with me than cook for me at the moment." He slipped back down into the sheets, then opened an eye to glance Butler's way. "Think you can handle that?"

Butler chuckled, drawing his young lover into a close spoon against him, and nuzzling Artemis' neck with unadulterated affection. "Yes," he murmured eventually, "that, I think I can handle."

**A/N: **Aha, conclusion! Yup, to quote Porky: "That's all, folks!" Of couse, after glancing back over this all I can think over and over is that I could TOTALLY (I'm pretty sure at least) write better smut than this now. Alas, *sigh*, I suppose I'll just have to prove that later, won't I? Hope everyone enjoyed themselves, and off I go back to my studies of Europe, war, Old English, and modern Mandarin. Joy.


End file.
